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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313948">The Haunting of the Rosebud Motel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyhandmaiden/pseuds/lilyhandmaiden'>lilyhandmaiden</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Established Ted Mullens/Alexis Rose, Fake Exorcisms, Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Towels, season 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:54:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyhandmaiden/pseuds/lilyhandmaiden</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“The point is, this motel is not haunted, so you have nothing to worry about. Mostly because ghosts aren’t real, but even if they were, this motel is not haunted. Right, Stevie?”</p><p>“Uh...” Three sets of Rose eyebrows were raised at Stevie.</p><p>“Right, Stevie?” David repeated incredulously.</p><p>“Well—I guess... yeah, it may be... sort of haunted.”</p><p>“What?!” David exclaimed.</p><p>“I thought you knew! I mean, what did you think kept happening to all your towels all the time?”</p><p>The Rosebud Motel is haunted, and that's bad for business, so something must be done.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis Rose &amp; David Rose, Alexis Rose &amp; David Rose &amp; Johnny Rose &amp; Moira Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd &amp; David Rose, Stevie Budd &amp; Johnny Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by one of my dearest headcanons, that the motel rooms are always short on towels because a ghost takes them, and one of my favorite pieces of actual canon, that Alexis Rose believes in and is afraid of ghosts.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Possibly, none of what followed would have occurred if Alexis hadn’t happened to be in Rose Apothecary when Ray popped by to have Patrick sign the lease agreement for his new apartment. She was sampling hand creams in a covert manner—one eye on David, who was rearranging candles in the corner, so she didn’t get caught—and not really paying attention to the whole paperwork thing going on up at the register, until she heard Ray say, “Now, if you’re not absolutely sure, Patrick, we do have another property that’s just opened up today, but I am legally obligated to tell you that it’s haunted.”</p><p>Alexis spun around, still holding a bottle of hand cream, completely forgetting her attempts at subtlety. “Ummmmm,” she said. “What?”</p><p>David pursed his lips in a show of barely repressed delight. He knew that, while most things that would give the average person night terrors for life did not faze Alexis, the one thing she had always consistently been afraid of was ghosts. “There’s a haunted house in Schitt’s Creek?” he asked. “Is it full of spirits waiting to take vengeance on all thieves of local merchandise?”</p><p>“There is a house that’s reputed to be haunted,” Ray replied, smiling, “although I have not heard that part about the thieves.”</p><p>“So not, like, <em>actually</em> haunted, then,” Alexis said.</p><p>“That depends. Patrick, will my answer one way or the other influence your decisions regarding this property?”</p><p>Patrick looked up from the documents in front of him, pen in hand. “Uh, no, Ray, I think I’m just gonna go with the apartment I already decided on.”</p><p>“Okay! Then no, I have no direct experience of an actual haunting on this particular property. But we are required to advertise if a building is <em>reputed</em> to be haunted anyway.”</p><p>David raised an eyebrow. “You thought Patrick would be <em>less</em> likely to rent an apartment that <em>doesn’t</em> come with ghost roommates?”</p><p>“Well, you never know! But, in general, yes, you’re correct—the ‘haunted’ label can be something of a drag on prospective sales.” Ray chuckled. “Stevie’s lucky your father stepped in when he did, because it would have made selling the motel a real challenge. Although, to be honest, I was looking forward to trying.”</p><p>There was a beat of silence as the other three occupants of the store exchanged glances. Finally, it was Patrick who said, “I’m sorry, the motel is—is <em>haunted</em>?”</p><p>“Reputed to be haunted, yes.”</p><p>Alexis was playing nervously with her earrings. “Okay, okay, like, but, again, not <em>actually</em> haunted, though.”</p><p>Ray hesitated. “Well...”</p><p>“Oh my God! Ew!” Alexis shrieked.</p><p>“Wait.” David waved one hand around. “So you do have <em>direct experience</em> of the motel being haunted?”</p><p>“Well, I only stayed there once, when my heat went out in the winter. But I did hear strange and ghostly music coming from the room next door all through the night.”</p><p>“What was the music?” David asked.</p><p>“It was the great Melissa Manchester’s ‘Don’t Cry Out Loud.’”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>***</p><p>Later that day, David entered the front office of the motel to find Stevie giving his dad another ‘file-opening’ tutorial at the computer. Alexis followed him, but only as far as the doorway, where she lingered, peering inside with an anxious expression.</p><p>David looked back at her and rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, just come in here. You’ve been in this room literally thousands of times.”</p><p>“Ugh, <em>fine</em>, David.” Alexis slunk into the room. “But if I get possessed or ghost-murdered or something, it’s on you.”</p><p>“What’s going on?” Stevie asked.</p><p>“Uh, well, <em>Ray</em> told us today that this motel is haunted, and Alexis is just a little freaked out because she’s five years old.”</p><p>“Excuse me, I am a <em>lot</em> freaked out, David, and you would be, too, if <em>you’d </em>been trapped in a castle dungeon with the headless ghost of Anne Boleyn or snowed in at a Swiss chalet with the ghost of Marlon Brando.”</p><p>“Okay, well, you know, sweetheart, that ghosts aren’t real,” Johnny said. “You... <em>do</em> know that, right?”</p><p>“Um, I dunno, Dad, try telling that to the image of Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes that I saw behind me in a mirror one time in 2007.”</p><p>“Okay, but what were you on at the time?” David asked.</p><p>Alexis wheeled on him. “You’re being awfully cavalier about this, David, for someone who was always telling me about the ghost lady who wandered the hallway in our wing of the house when we were kids.”</p><p>David grimaced. “Yeah, about that...”</p><p>“David! You told me you saw her all the time, and that she was going to cut all my hair off with her long fingernails...” She noticed the way David was biting his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re such a dick, David!”</p><p>“<em>Enough</em>, kids,” Johnny intervened. “The point is, this motel is not haunted, so you have nothing to worry about. Mostly because ghosts aren’t real, but even if they were, this motel is not haunted. Right, Stevie?”</p><p>“Uh...” Three sets of Rose eyebrows were raised at Stevie.</p><p>“<em>Right</em>, Stevie?” David repeated incredulously.</p><p>“Well—I guess... yeah, it may be... sort of haunted.”</p><p>“What?!” David exclaimed.</p><p>“I thought you knew! I mean, what did you <em>think</em> kept happening to all your towels all the time?”</p><p>“I thought you were just really bad at your job!” David responded. “You mean to tell me we have a <em>towel-stealing ghost</em>?”</p><p>Alexis shook head, muttering, “Ew. Ewewew. No,” and backing toward the door.</p><p>“It’s basically harmless,” Stevie said. “It’s been here my whole life, and it just kind of moves stuff around so I can’t find it, and it takes towels from rooms and puts them back on the supply shelves. It’s never bothered any guests, it’s just sort of...” she gestured broadly, “around.”</p><p>“All right.” David nodded. “A: I can’t believe you never told me this, and B: I don’t think any of the evidence you’ve presented rules out you just being bad at your job.”</p><p>Stevie scowled, but Johnny said, “Y’know, he’s right, Stevie.” Stevie directed her scowl from her best friend to her business partner. “Not—not about you being bad at your job,” he corrected hastily. “But... well, the mind plays tricks, human error... what I mean to say is, I’m sure what you’ve experienced all has a perfectly rational explanation.”</p><p>“Okay,” Alexis called from the doorway, “I’m just gonna stay with Ted, though, until you guys can get rid of this pervy towel ghost, so... okay, bye! Good luck!” She darted out ungracefully and shut the door behind her.</p><p>David turned back to Stevie. “I changed my mind, this is definitely a benevolent spirit.”</p><p>Johnny, however, looked thoughtful. “You know, Alexis raises a good point.”</p><p>David blinked. “She does?”</p><p>“Yes. If this motel has a reputation for being haunted, we ought to do something about it.”</p><p>“I thought we <em>just</em> agreed that ghosts aren’t real.”</p><p>“<em>You guys</em> agreed that,” Stevie corrected.</p><p>“Well, yes, but as your sister proves, it doesn’t matter if it’s real or not, people will believe it, and it might make them stay away. <em>But</em> if we can make a big show of expelling the ghosts...” Johnny clapped his hands together. “Problem solved!”</p><p>“So you want to do some kind of exorcism of the motel?” Stevie asked. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”</p><p>A sudden rapping sounded at the window, causing them all to jump. Then they heard Alexis’s voice, somewhat muffled by the glass, calling, “David! David, I’m not going back in that room, so I need you to pack a bag for me!”</p><p>“Well,” Johnny said, “it has to be worth a try.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days later, Moira Rose entered the front office to retrieve her husband for lunch, only to find him engrossed in the end of a staff meeting with Stevie and Roland.</p><p>“I’ll be with you in just a minute, dear,” Johnny told her, before asking Stevie, “How are we progressing with the, uh...” He glanced back a Moira. “...situation we discussed. The... ‘eviction’ of those ‘unwanted guests?’”</p><p>Stevie gave him a blank look. “Do you mean the exorcism?”</p><p>“What?!” Moira cried. “John! Do we have reason to believe that this establishment is in need of a paranormal expurgation?”</p><p>“No, of course not,” Johnny said, at the same time as Roland said, “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”</p><p>When Johnny shot him a glare, he added, “What? Everybody in town knows the motel is haunted. Right, Stevie?”</p><p>“Well, apparently the Roses didn’t.”</p><p>“No, and one would think that would be something you would want to disclose to the person you’re going into business with,” Johnny said pointedly.</p><p>Stevie shrugged. “Again, I thought you knew.”</p><p>“I’m frankly surprised you didn’t, Johnny.” Roland sucked his teeth. “I mean, as long as you’ve been staying here, you’d think you’d have heard them.”</p><p>Moira looked askance. “Heard what?”</p><p>“The ghosts. It seems like every time I’m staying here, I’m just minding my own business, listening to my music, when ‘round about midnight they start pounding on the walls.”</p><p>The others took a moment to absorb this information.</p><p>“The ghosts aren’t real, Moira,” Johnny said at last. “We’re just putting on an exorcism for show so that anyone who believes the motel is haunted will know it’s safe to stay here.”</p><p>“Oh! A bit of flimflam for the masses! A sale of snake oil to produce a calming placebo effect. A <em>show</em>, in fact! Well, who have you tapped to perform this macabre theatrical production?”</p><p>Stevie sighed. “Well, I called Pastor Jim, and he said no, because apparently only Catholic priests are supposed to do exorcisms. So I tried St. Luke’s in Elmdale, and they yelled at me for prank calling them and hung up. Then Alexis gave me the number for a medium she used to date who apparently wants to charge us $3,000 plus cross-country travel and room and board. So then I called Ray to see if he’d ever had this kind of experience before in his real estate career, and he ended up giving me the number for Ned’s Wild Animal Control, because they got the raccoons out of his attic, and a ghost shouldn’t be too much harder. So... no, not a lot of progress on the exorcism front.”</p><p>“Say no more.” Moira slammed her fist onto the desk. “I’ll do it!”</p><p>“You’ll do... what, the exorcism?” Johnny asked.</p><p>“Yes! You forget, my character performed two exorcism and was subjected to five over the course of my time on <em>Sunrise Bay</em>. I think I know how ceremonial banishments of the supernatural are supposed to go! Invite the townsfolk. I will perform so convincingly that no one will dare suspect the Rosebud Motel of haunting ever again.”</p><p>***</p><p>The very next night, a selection of the townspeople of Schitt’s Creek were crammed into the motel’s front office, having it explained to them by Stevie that no, there were no refreshments at this event. Johnny was there, of course. David had brought Patrick, and Alexis was clinging to Ted. Roland, Jocelyn, Bob, Gwen, Ronnie, and Ray rounded out the group.</p><p>“Well, if there’s no refreshments, all I’m saying is I’d better see some damn ghosts,” Ronnie said drily.</p><p>Johnny rubbed his hands together. “Oh, you’ll see... something, I can guarantee that.” He leaned toward his son. “David, go get your mother. The crowd’s getting restless.”</p><p>“She said curtain would be precisely at eight,” David replied.</p><p>Stevie clenched and unclenched her hands, muttering, “I really don’t feel right about this.”</p><p>“Really?” Patrick asked. “Alexis I kind of get, but I’m surprised you buy into all this spooky stuff.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>this</em>,” she gestured to indicate the furniture draped in sheets and candles strewn about, “is 100% bullshit. But... I just know what I know, okay?”</p><p>It was then that the clock struck eight, and Moira Rose made her entrance. She swung open the door with a dramatic flourish, letting a strong, rain-scented wind from outside billow her long, black wig, her flowing white dress, and her gauzy silver shawl all around her. Her makeup was pallid, her eyeshadow dark, her lipstick black. The effect was both creepy and impressive. Stevie fought the door closed as Moira glided into position behind the front desk.</p><p>“Welcome, fair visitors,” she intoned, “from this plane and the next, if friends to we mortals ye be. We are gathered here to rid this haunted inn of the spectral, perhaps even demonic forces that hold it in their sway.” She let her eyes survey the room, making eye contact with each attendee in turn, and was pleased to see Jocelyn shiver, Bob glance about nervously, and Ronnie nod in approval. “Let us begin by encircling our area of refuge here in salt, which the forces of darkness may not cross.”</p><p>Stevie dutifully sprinkled a line of table salt around Moira and the assembled group.</p><p>“Oh, shouldn’t Stevie be inside the circle, too?” Ted asked when she was done.</p><p>Roland laughed. “Unless, of course, Stevie is a force of darkness, which I can’t say would be a huge surprise."</p><p>“I’m supposed to be over here by the door,” Stevie said uneasily, looking to Moira for guidance.</p><p>Moira jumped in: “To guard the entrance, lest we be interrupted by hostile forces.”</p><p>“Nuh-uh.” Ronnie shook her head. “She’s over there to flip the light switches off and on to mess with us. Get in here.”</p><p>“Stevie, you may join us,” Moira conceded. “<em>Do not scuff the salt</em>. I know you have a shuffling gait. And bring me the Bible.”</p><p>Stevie halted with one foot on either side of the salt. “Uh, what Bible?”</p><p>“For the ceremony! Surely you have one—don’t you provide them in all the nightstand drawers here?”</p><p>“No... But we do have this copy of...” Stevie went behind the desk and rummaged. “... <em>Seduced By the Archbishop</em> that a guest left in one of the rooms.”</p><p>“That will do. Give it to me. Thank you.”</p><p>Stevie squeezed into the salt circle with the others.</p><p>“And now bring forth the sage, David, and the holy water, Alexis.”</p><p>David and Alexis squeezed forward.</p><p>“Um, so, we were all out of sage at the store, so this is cilantro,” David said in a low voice.</p><p>“Yeah, and the supermarket in Elm Glen didn’t have holy water? Um, but they did have sparkling water, so. Here you go.” Alexis set a plastic water bottle on the desk.</p><p>Moira did not stumble. She lit the bowl of cilantro on fire—Johnny gave Roland a surreptitious thumbs-up for remembering to take the batteries out of the smoke detector—and flung sparkling water upon her audience—specifically on Jocelyn, Stevie, Alexis, and Patrick, who David was using as a human shield to protect is sweater. She used the remaining water to douse the cilantro.</p><p>Then Moira made a noise, starting out as a low hum at the very bottom of her vocal range, rising to the very top, and sinking to the bottom again. She raised her arms.</p><p>“In nomine deus ex machina... et spiritus... et domino... Hear me, o dark spirit who haunts this place, this cursed plot of earth, this Rosebud Motel. I conjure and abjure thee by bell!” She hit the bell on the desk, which clunked. “Book!” She picked up the copy of <em>Seduced by the Archbishop</em> and slammed it down again. “And candle!” She lit a tea light on the desk in front of her. “AVAUNT! Leave this place! I compel you!” She picked up the book again and held it aloft before her. The cover featured a scantily-clad woman held in the arms of a man who, despite being shirtless, was for some reason still wearing an archbishop’s mitre on his head. “I <em>compel you</em>! Begone! In nomine patrice... et... ex factor... et... saaaa... ra... ra...” Here Moira floundered, but quickly found a thread to cling to. “Ra-ah-ah, roma, roma-ma, gaga...” Half the spectators held their breath to see if she would next say, <em>ooh lala</em>. “Gone! Begone! Be! Gone!”</p><p>And she might have kept going like that indefinitely, had not a well-timed peal of thunder sounded outside to impressively punctuate her command. She had only a second to feel pleased by the effect, however, before the room was plunged into darkness.</p><p>First, there were various screams.</p><p>Then Alexis’s voice sounded above the others: “Okay, not cool, this is <em>not </em>cool!”</p><p>Then Ted, reassuring her: “It’s okay, babe, I’ve got you. The power just went out.”</p><p>“No, Stevie messed with the lights,” Patrick said.</p><p>“No, I didn’t!”</p><p>“I saw you over there!”</p><p>“I’m <em>right here</em> next to <em>you</em>!”</p><p>The lights flickered back on. Everyone stood frozen. Then applause broke out.</p><p>“Wow,” Jocelyn said. “Very impressive, Moira.”</p><p>“I will be sure to include ‘No Longer Haunted’ on any future real estate listings of this motel,” Ray said.</p><p>Gwen picked up <em>Seduced by the Archbishop</em>. “Can I keep this?”</p><p>In ones and twos, everyone filed out, until only the Roses, Stevie, Patrick, and Ted remained.</p><p>“Okay, well, goodnight,” Alexis said. “Ted and I are going to go now.”</p><p>Johnny held out one hand to stop her. “Wait, wait, you have to stay in your room here tonight. If people think you’re still scared to sleep here, they’ll think the whole thing was fake.”</p><p>“But the whole thing <em>was</em> fake,” Alexis pointed out. “And I <em>am</em> scared to sleep here.”</p><p>“Nonsense, Alexis, you’ve slept in your room every night this week—why should tonight be any different?” Moira asked.</p><p>“Mm, no, I’ve been at Ted’s since Wednesday.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“I haven’t been here, like, at all.”</p><p>“Well, regardless,” Johnny said, “you’re staying here tonight—and you too, David—to help the family and the motel.”</p><p>“Babe, it’ll be fine,” Ted said. “If you get scared, call me, and I’ll come pick you up. Thanks for a <em>super</em>natural evening, Mrs. Rose!”</p><p>“I will also come pick you up if you get scared,” Patrick teased David, wrapping his arm around him.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Or if the other kids are mean to you.”</p><p>"Mm-hmm."</p><p>They were all still talking among themselves when the door closed behind them, leaving Stevie alone. She looked around at all the salt and candles, some of which were now dripping wax onto the furniture and floor.</p><p>“Guess I’m the one cleaning this up,” said to no one.</p><p>She set about blowing out candles. When she turned around and, where there had been nothing before, the vacuum sat in front of the desk. Stevie gave a small smile. “Thanks.”</p><p>***</p><p>The first sign that something had gone wrong came at three in the morning, when the TV in David and Alexis’s room switched on at full volume by itself.</p><p>“What the fuck, Alexis, turn that off, it’s 3 a.m.,” David mumbled into his pillow.</p><p>“<em>You</em> turn it off, David,” Alexis mumbled back.</p><p>David reached over, groped around on the nightstand until he found the remote, and turned off the TV. 30 seconds later, it switched on again.</p><p>“David, stop it!” Alexis cracked her eyes open and glared at her brother.</p><p>“I didn’t do anything, you’re the one...” David sat up. In the light cast by the TV, he could see the remote still sitting next to him, apparently untouched. “Are you playing some immature prank on me right now?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You turned on the TV, right? And put the remote back over here?”</p><p>Alexis sat up. “How could I have done that without you noticing, David?”</p><p>Abruptly, the TV switched off and the lights switched on.</p><p>“<em>Stop</em> it, David!”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> not doing this!”</p><p>The lights switched off and the TV switched on again.</p><p>“Stop, this isn’t funny!”</p><p>“How could I be doing this?! You’re sitting there, watching me not do it!”</p><p>Johnny opened the connecting door. “Kids, keep it down. Your mother and I are trying to sleep.”</p><p>“We’re not doing this!” Alexis exclaimed.</p><p>“Please stop this infernal racket!” Moira’s voice sounded from the next room.</p><p>The lights and TV started to flicker on and off at an increasingly frantic pace.</p><p>Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Must be the storm.”</p><p>“The storm has been over for hours!” Alexis cried.</p><p>“Yeah, and the storm would only knock the power <em>off</em> or <em>on</em>, not do <em>this</em>!” David gestured wildly.</p><p>Alexis picked up her phone to call Ted. “How is my phone dead?! I was charging it!”</p><p>David checked his phone. “Mine’s dead, too.”</p><p>All at once, everything went dark. Alexis screamed, ran into her parents’ room, and dove under the covers next to Moira. David followed her, pushing past Johnny in the doorway.</p><p>“What’s happening?” Moira groaned.</p><p>“There’s some kind of an electrical problem in the kids’ room,” Johnny said.</p><p>David shook his head. “Nope. This motel is definitely, <em>extremely</em> haunted.”</p><p>“Yeah, and I think your little ceremony pissed off the ghost,” Alexis added from underneath the covers.</p><p>Moira, still half asleep, sighed. “Everybody’s a critic.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow, David managed to fall back asleep somewhere between 5 and 6 a.m. He woke up at 9 to find his dad and Alexis already gone and his mom still asleep in the bed next to him. He got up quietly and returned to his room to find it looking as though nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened. After showering, getting dressed, and performing his 9-step skincare regimen, he found himself almost willing to entertain more mundane explanations for what had happened the night before.</p>
<p>He walked down to the front office to find Stevie standing near the front desk with her back to the door. That is, he recognized the height, build, and posture as Stevie’s. But she was wearing a dress, which should have been his first clue that something was off, flats instead of her usual Converse, which should have been his second, and she appeared to have cut her hair to shoulder length and curled it under at the back, which should have been a giant red flashing light.</p>
<p>Still, his first impulse was to exclaim, “Aren’t we fancy today? What did you do to your <em>hair</em>?”</p>
<p>Stevie turned around—or, at least, the glare was Stevie’s, but the face, he could see now, was not quite. It was also, David noticed, slightly translucent. He stood frozen, locked in a silent staring contest with this not-Stevie, when the door behind him opened and actual Stevie barreled into his back. They both screamed and cursed, whacking at each other with flailing limbs. By the time David turned back around, the ghostly woman was gone. A stack of towels were on the desk near where she’d been standing.</p>
<p>“Did you see—?”</p>
<p>“What?” Stevie asked. Then she noticed the towels and grabbed at them. “Where did you get these?”</p>
<p>David shook his head, wide-eyed. “Okay, I would like to report a <em>problem</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh, believe me, <em>I know</em>. Apparently half our rooms are now haunted. You dad told me about your thing with the lights and the TV. Room 1 reported someone banging on their walls all night—”</p>
<p>“Okay, but that could be—”</p>
<p>“There was no one staying in Room 2.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“I found the woman in Room 3 stuck in her bathroom, where apparently she’d been trapped all night, unable to open the door. The man in Room 4 reported someone sitting in his room, watching him, but when he turned on the light, they had disappeared. And when I was cleaning Room 9 just now, the bed started moving. Like, back and forth. Bumping up against the wall. And there was moaning, but not traditional ghost moaning, like... sexual moaning.”</p>
<p>“Ew!”</p>
<p>“Oh, also, no one has any towels. Yes, even the woman who was stuck in the bathroom, somehow. Your dad’s out now trying to construct some kind of ‘rational explanation’ for everything.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to find one. I just saw—”</p>
<p>At that moment, Moira burst in. “David! And Stevie! Are you both corporeal?!” She grabbed them each by the arm. “Yes! Oh, thank God. I was just outside, searching my bag for sunglasses, when I heard a voice ask me for Aspirin. I looked up, and it was the man—the deceased man from last year in whose death I could not possibly be implicated!”</p>
<p>Stevie frowned. “The dead guy from Room 4?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Room 4. That was the room he subsequently entered—by walking straight through the closed door!”</p>
<p>“Okay,” David said, “that’s like what just happened to me. I—”</p>
<p>It was then that Johnny entered, wide eyed and slightly out of breath. “Oh,” he panted. “Hello, David, Moira. Stevie. I was just—I ran here because—Oh, you found some towels! That’s good! Where did they come from?”</p>
<p>David crossed his arms. “Uh, I was just <em>trying to say</em> that they were apparently left here by some spectral, disappearing woman who looked an awful lot like—”</p>
<p>“—like Stevie,” Johnny finished. “I saw her, too, just now. She walked through a wall.” He gave a somewhat hysterical laugh. “I don’t have a rational explanation for that.”</p>
<p>Stevie’s mouth fell open. “She looked like <em>me</em>?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps a relative?” Moira suggested.</p>
<p>Johnny nodded. “You did say this motel had been in your family for generations, right?”</p>
<p>“She looked very 1950s, if that helps,” David added.</p>
<p>“I’m <em>related</em> to the <em>towel ghost</em>?”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Johnny interrupted Stevie’s budding personal crisis. “Here’s what we’re going to do. David, you text your sister. We’re all meeting at the café after the lunch rush so we can talk this over. So far, we’re the only ones living in this town who know about this. We’re going to figure out what to do to put a stop to it before word gets out.”</p>
<p>“What are we going to do?” David asked. “Call the Ghostbusters?”</p>
<p>“We’ll figure out something.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Stevie was the last to arrive at the café shortly after 3:00. She pulled a chair up to the end of the booth where Johnny, Moira, David, and Alexis were already seated.</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late.”</p>
<p>“That’s all right, we were merely enjoying a mutually traumatized silence,” Moira replied.</p>
<p>Alexis straightened. “Well, <em>I</em>, for one, think we should all take a moment to acknowledge that I was right and Dad and David were wrong about ghosts being real.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think we need to dwell on that,” said David, stirring his smoothie with the straw.</p>
<p>“David’s right,” Johnny said, ignoring Alexis’s pout. “We need to focus on what we’re going to do going forward, now that we know they <em>are</em> real.”</p>
<p>David pointed his straw at Stevie. “I thought <em>you</em> said they never bothered the guests.”</p>
<p>“They <em>haven’t</em>, up until now. To be honest, I always thought the ghost in the motel was... nice. Just bored sometimes. When I was there by myself, also bored, it was...” She looked down and rushed through the words, “It was kind of nice knowing it was there.”</p>
<p>“Well, what’s happening now is not nice,” Alexis said.</p>
<p>“Also, it’s not just one ghost anymore,” David added. “And I just wonder... what could’ve happened... to stir them all up so suddenly.” He looked pointedly at his mother.</p>
<p>Moira scoffed. “Honestly, it is hardly my fault if the writers of <em>Sunrise Bay</em> did not do their due diligence in researching the mechanics of an exorcism! Your father’s right, we must focus on how to move forward and repair this tear in the veil between worlds.”</p>
<p>Alexis cleared her throat. “Okay, well, in my experience, ghosts are ghosts for a reason. They all have some kind of unfinished business or something they’re sticking around for, and they won’t move on until that’s taken care of. Or at least that’s what the deal was with Marilyn Monroe that one time.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Johnny said. “That’s a place to start. So we need to figure out who these people were and what they wanted. Unfortunately, for... most of them... we have no idea. But Stevie helped me look up the man from Room 4, so we do know that his name was Ron Dugan. And we know that the woman with the towels was probably related to Stevie.”</p>
<p>“About that.” Stevie drew a photo album out of her bag and set it on the table. “The reason I was late getting here is because I was digging this out. If she was a Budd, her picture’s probably in it.”</p>
<p>David opened the album and only had to turn a couple of pages before he pointed to one black-and-white photo in particular. “That’s her.”</p>
<p>Johnny peered over David’s shoulder. “Looks like her, all right.”</p>
<p>Stevie pulled the album back towards her. “Wow, okay. So, that’s my great-grandmother, Mary Jean Budd. She died when I was like two. But, um, she and her husband had the motel built in the ‘40s. He got injured in World War II and couldn’t work in the quarry anymore, and motels were kind of a new thing then. But he died a couple years later, and Mary Jean ran the motel herself until my grandfather was old enough to take over. She was kind of badass.”</p>
<p>“<em>Totally</em> badass,” Alexis agreed.</p>
<p>Moira eyed the photograph. “Does your family lore indicate what business she left unfinished?”</p>
<p>“No.” Stevie shook her head. “I have no idea.</p>
<p>“Okay. Then do we know what Ron wanted?” David asked.</p>
<p>Moira gasped. “Vengeance! He’s singled me out for torment, as the person who, he believes, failed to prevent his demise.”</p>
<p>“Or,” David suggested, “maybe he just can’t move on until he finally gets that Aspirin he wanted.”</p>
<p>“Or maybe he’s just repeating his last day,” said Stevie. “Just stuck in a loop. Same with Mary Jean and the towels, or the one in what used to be the honeymoon suite. Maybe he doesn’t even know he’s dead. Maybe none of them do.”</p>
<p>There was a pause as the weight of this possibility settled across the table.</p>
<p>A voice behind Stevie said, “That makes some sense.”</p>
<p>Everyone at the table, who had been leaning over the photograph of Mary Jean Budd, started back, gasping. But it was only Twyla.</p>
<p>“How—how long have you been standing there?” Johnny asked.</p>
<p>“Oh, a while. I came by to get Stevie’s order, but what you were talking about was just so interesting, I forgot! Can I get you anything, Stevie?”</p>
<p>Stevie shook her head.</p>
<p>Johnny eyed Twyla warily. “So, you... know about our little... haunting problem at the motel.”</p>
<p>“Oh, everyone does. It’s not really surprising. Motels are liminal spaces, so they get haunted a lot.”</p>
<p>Alexis tilted her head. “Sorry, what kind of spaces?”</p>
<p>“Liminal,” Moira said. “Thresholds, borders, transitional spaces in between one place and the next.”</p>
<p>“Which is why Stevie’s theory is so interesting,” Twyla said. “Maybe the ghosts are stuck in between, and they just need someone to tell them it’s time to check out.” She shrugged. “I heard about your exorcism last night, Mrs. Rose! I wish I could have gone, it sounds like it was awesome.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, dear.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Johnny pressed, “it went very well. We are still having some minor issues, as you’ve gathered, but we’d like to keep that quiet until we figure out how to deal with it, if you catch my meaning.”</p>
<p>Twyla nodded. “Of course. Exorcisms are very yelly, and some ghosts just don’t respond well to yelling. Maybe you should try a séance?”</p>
<p>“How is that different?” David asked.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s more about opening lines of communication. So the spirits could answer your questions about who they are and what they want, maybe! My Aunt Maxine and I used to do them all the time, until she got into this really intense argument about beekeeping with one of the spirits, and she got fed up and started selling jewelry on Etsy instead.”</p>
<p>Everyone at the table exchanged glances. One by one, they each shrugged.</p>
<p>Alexis put on her most charming smile. “Hey, Twy? Do you have any, like, super big plans tonight?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hi, ghosts! Are you there? It’s me, Twyla.”</p>
<p>Patrick cracked one eye open. “Is that the traditional way to begin one of these, or...?”</p>
<p>Everyone shushed him. A group was once again assembled in the darkened front office of the motel, this time confined to those who knew that the previous gathering had backfired—the Roses, Stevie, Patrick, Ted, and Twyla. Furniture had been pushed out of the way to allow them all to sit in a circle, eyes closed, holding hands. Candles were strewn about the room, although this time Stevie had put newspaper under each one to catch the wax.</p>
<p>“Can you flicker the lights if you’re there?” Twyla asked.</p>
<p>The lights flickered.</p>
<p>“Oh, great! Thank you! We’re going to open our eyes, okay?”</p>
<p>The lights flickered again.</p>
<p>“Okay. Now. May we speak to Mary Jean Budd, please?” A pause ensued. “Your great-granddaughter is here,” Twyla continued. “And I’m sure she’d love to say hello.”</p>
<p>Stevie’s eyes went wide. “What? I—”</p>
<p>Over by the light switch, Mary Jean Budd materialized. She approached the circle and put her hands on her hips, as though to say, <em>Well?</em> It was an expression David instantly recognized, and he fought to hide a smile as he looked over at Stevie who, for her part, was staring with her mouth open at the woman she had previously known primarily as Towel Ghost.</p>
<p>Twyla nudged her. “Stevie. She wants to talk to you.”</p>
<p>“Uhh... Hi, Great-Grandma...” Stevie’s said in a small voice. “Long time no see...?”</p>
<p>“<em>For you</em>.” Mary Jean’s voice came out sounding faraway and tinny, not quite in sync with the motion of her lips.</p>
<p>“Right. Um. So… you know that you’re dead?”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes. For over thirty years. You were little then. You don’t remember me.</em>”</p>
<p>“No. Sorry.” Stevie grimaced. “You were old, though. How come you don’t look old?”</p>
<p>Mary Jean shrugged. “<em>It works like that sometimes.</em>”</p>
<p>“Okay...” Stevie took a deep breath. “Um, is anyone else there? Grandpa, or Nana, or…” Her voice fell nearly to a whisper. “…my mom?”</p>
<p>“<em>No. They all moved on. Like they were supposed to.</em>” Stevie nodded, blinking fast. “<em>Maureen might be in that parking lot where you scattered her ashes, though. She always did like scaring kids.</em>”</p>
<p>“Yeah. That makes sense.”</p>
<p>Johnny cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, Stevie, but maybe you could…”</p>
<p>“Oh! Right. Um, Great-Grandma—Mary Jean—this is Mr. Rose.”</p>
<p>“<em>I know. I know everyone in this room.</em>” Those in the circle exchanged nervous looks. “<em>Sorry. That sounded creepier than I meant it to.</em>”</p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Budd. But I meant, Stevie, that maybe this is a good opening for you to ask her about the… unfinished business thing?” Johnny said, eyebrows raised.</p>
<p>“Oh! Oh. Good point.” Stevie turned back to her ancestor. “So, if all of them moved on, why didn’t you? I mean, not to sound unwelcoming, but why are you still here?”</p>
<p>“<em>This is my motel. It was my idea, and I ran things here as long as I could—sometimes with my husband, sometimes with my children, sometimes on my own. I wasn’t ready to let it go, so I didn’t. I decided to stick around, to watch over things. I like the new name, by the way.</em>”</p>
<p>Alexis preened. “You’re so sweet, thank you! That was my idea.” David gave her an incredulous look. “<em>What</em>, David? She’s not even all that scary, like, up close like this.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but I have to ask,” Stevie said. “If you were looking after the place, why move the keys and hide the cleaning supplies? Why take all the towels? Why make things harder for <em>me</em>?”</p>
<p>“<em>I was bored. Moving things around, especially the towels, it was funny. Watching people scramble around, get mad...</em>” She grinned.</p>
<p>David snorted. “Figures, your ancestor would also be a troll.”</p>
<p>Mary Jean’s gaze fell on David for a moment before returning to Stevie. “<em>And you were bored, too—bored and lonely—for a long time. But when I took the towels, people came to talk to you.</em>”</p>
<p>“Okay. Well. That was annoying of you. I was fine by myself.” Stevie looked at Mary Jean, standing behind the Roses. She remembered David chasing her down as she walked to her car: <em>I have asked you </em>thrice<em> now for a towel so that I may wash this town off my body.</em> She remembered Mr. Rose seeing her step out of Room 9: <em>Stevie, is this where you keep the towels? If it is, I’d love a key!</em> She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Well, that explains you,” Moira said to Mary Jean. “What about the rest of the assorted phantasmagoria we’ve experienced since last night? What reasons have those other apparitions for remaining here? Must we speak to them as well?”</p>
<p>Mary Jean shook her head. “<em>Wouldn’t do you any good. They’re not like me.</em>”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“<em>Well, Ron, as you know, had a heart attack in his sleep in Room 4. Scooter OD’d after a party in Room 1. Maggie slipped in the shower in Room 3. Bruce went out in flagrante delicto in Room 9. I’ve been here since the motel opened, so I know what happened to all of them. But I don’t think they do. They sort of drift through the same routines—their last days, I guess, over and over. And over time, they fade away. Or they were, before last night, when that… whatever that was—</em>”</p>
<p>“Exorcism,” Moira supplied.</p>
<p>“<em>Okay</em>,” she said doubtfully. “<em>It stirred everything up. All of us are stronger all of a sudden.</em>”</p>
<p>Most of the circle looked to Moira with varying degrees of accusation in their expressions. But Stevie continued to study Mary Jean.</p>
<p>“So what makes you different from them?” she asked. “How come they’re like that and you’re not?”</p>
<p>Mary Jean shrugged. “<em>I know why I’m here. I have a reason. I saw the exit and chose not to take it. Whereas they just got stuck… in the middle of things. In between.</em>”</p>
<p>“In a liminal space,” Twyla murmured. “On their way to a destination they’re never going to reach. That’s so sad!”</p>
<p>“So what do we do, like, get them in our car and drive them to wherever?” Alexis asked.</p>
<p>“<em>There’s only one way for them to leave the property, and it’s to… you know… </em>leave <em>leave. But they won’t see it. I see the way out every day—I could show them. But I can be right in front of them screaming, ‘Hey! You’re dead!’ and they don’t hear me. I’m not a part of their routine, and confronting their own death certainly isn’t.</em>”</p>
<p>“So…” Stevie could feel the gears turning in her head. “You can show them how to move on, but you need to do it in a way that fits in with the routine of their last days alive. Here. In this motel.” Something clicked. Stevie pointed at her great-grandmother. “You have front desk experience, right?”</p>
<p>Mary Jean nodded. Stevie smiled.</p>
<p>“It’s just like Twyla said at the café. We—<em>you</em>—need to tell them it’s time to check out.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Stevie had her eye on the clock late the next morning, so she wasn’t entirely surprised when Mary Jean Budd materialized in front of her at the agreed-upon time, but she shivered a little nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Are you ready?” she asked.</p>
<p>The ghost nodded. “<em>I worked here when Maggie and Bruce checked in. And as long as the family resemblance holds up, Scooter will think I’m Maureen and Ron will think I’m you. I show up at the right time, check them out, show them the door.</em>”</p>
<p>Stevie took off her flannel shirt and held it out. “Um. I figured, if you can move towels, you can wear clothes. I might be wrong. But if you can, I thought it might help if you put this on for Ron.”</p>
<p>Mary Jean draped the flannel over her shoulders, arranging it so the nametag reading “Stevie” was clearly visible.</p>
<p>“What’s going to happen to you now?” Stevie asked. “Will you ‘check out,’ too?”</p>
<p>“<em>Do you want me to?</em>”</p>
<p>Stevie shrugged and looked down at her shoes as they scuffed the carpet. “It’s nice knowing I have one family member who’s actually stuck around,” she conceded. “But I don’t want you to be, y’know, <em>trapped</em> here like those other dead people. The motel’s fine, and…” She did not say, <em>I’m fine</em>, but she didn’t need to. “I guess I’m saying, if you want to go… you can go. It’s okay.”</p>
<p>Mary Jean looked at Stevie like she could see right through her, rather than the other way around. “<em>Same to you,</em>” she said.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <em>Ron was, quite frankly, confused. He felt like he was sleepwalking at the bottom of a swimming pool—the world around him was simultaneously heavy and insubstantial, unreal. He felt like he’d done all this before, but he couldn’t remember when, or what he meant when he thought “all this.” He knew he was staying at a motel in some town with a funny name, and he desperately wanted an Aspirin. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There was a knock on his door.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ron Dugan?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yes?” He studied the woman and her nametag. “Oh. You’re the girl from the front desk. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first. You look…”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I got a haircut.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Oh. Right.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ron, I think I told you that our mandatory checkout time is 11 a.m.” She pointed at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s 11. Time to go.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Oh! I must have lost track of time. I’ve been… I wasn’t feeling well.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s all right.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He patted his pockets. “I can’t find my key.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We have it. All you have to do is walk through that door…” She pointed behind him. There was a door in the wall where, he would swear, one hadn’t been before. “…and continue on your way. Finish your journey.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yes. That’s what I… intended to do today.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The woman nodded. “Thank you for staying at the— the Rosebud Motel.” She sounded like she wasn’t used to saying the name. Maybe she hadn’t worked here long.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Ron Dugan opened the door and left the motel.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Several months later…</em>
</p>
<p>Mr. and Mrs. Rose might have left Schitt’s Creek for LA in September, but traces of them were still all over the town—most noticeably, at the moment, in the number of bookings the motel had in place for the weeks leading up to Halloween.</p>
<p>In a twist that should have surprised no one, while attempting to keep reports of the haunting confined to the small group who had attended the séance, and trusting that the guests who’d witnessed it would simply scatter back to their distant hometowns, Johnny Rose had completely forgotten to account for the internet. Within days, the motel’s Google and Yelp reviews all touted it as one of the most haunted places to stay in Ontario.</p>
<p>It turned out, though, that Johnny had also miscalculated the public response to this news. While people might be reluctant to <em>buy</em> a haunted property, it seemed that they were more than willing to pay to <em>visit</em> one. It didn’t even matter that almost all the incidents mentioned in the reviews stemmed from a two-day period and that a new paranormal incident hadn’t been reported in months—the stories snowballed on social media and message boards, and as the motel’s reputation grew, so did its popularity among the ghost-hunting and supernatural thrill-seeking portion of the public.</p>
<p>“No, I’m sorry, Room 4 is booked every night that week,” Stevie said into the phone. “We <em>do</em> have a vacancy in Room 1 for Thursday. Yes, that is the room with the reported noises late at night. I can personally tell you, though, as someone who works here, that I’ve had reports of late-night noises from every single one of our rooms. Wednesday? Our only vacancy is Room 8. Yes, with the mysterious stain on the floor. Between you and me, I just got back from touring a bunch of motels in upstate New York, and I haven’t seen a stain like it anywhere else.”</p>
<p>A guest came in looking agitated. Stevie held up one index finger and mouthed, <em>I’ll be right with you. </em>“Mm-hmm. Okay, great. I have you down for Wednesday in Room 8. Thank you for choosing the Rosebud Motel Group.” Stevie hung up the phone. “How can I help you?”</p>
<p>The woman before her scowled. “There are absolutely <em>no towels</em> in my room.”</p>
<p>Stevie, to the woman’s consternation, grinned. “Awesome.” She quickly schooled her expression. “Sorry. Not awesome. I’ll go find you some towels.”</p>
<p>But when she turned her back, she was smiling again—one more Budd woman who was exactly where she had chosen to be.</p>
  </div></div>
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